How They Fall
by James Oldraven
Summary: Vampires at the head of the Nazi government rule over unsuspecting Fenris Garous. American Garous fight the Wehrmacht, unknowingly killing their own. Caitiff and Ronin get caught in the middle. Fifty years later, a Caitiff and a Ronin lovers will discover


**Vampires at the head of the Nazi government rule over unsuspecting Fenris Garous. American Garous fight the Wehrmacht, unknowingly killing their own. Caitiff and Ronin get caught in the middle. Fifty years later, a Caitiff and a Ronin -lovers- will discover truths that threaten to shatter the veil and the Masquerade.**

**Feel free to Read & Review!**

**Vampire: The Masquerade, Werewolf: The Apocalypse, and all other mentioned RPGs are copyright of Mark Rein-Haagen et al, from White Wolf. Although all (or most) of the characters mentioned here are my own creations, they were made with the rules of the above mentioned games. **

**Some points in the plot may also come from story hooks or short stories published in the White Wolf books.**

**Also, the Lacuna Coil and Blind Guardian songs heard as I wrote this story (not that you could have known that) are not my property either.**

**The persons, places, and events portrayed in here are NOT based on their real referents. Some are even unknown to me and have been freely modified for the story's purposes. No offense is meant or should be taken by this modifications. IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, DON'T **

**READ IT**.

**HOW THEY FALL.**

By James Oldraven.

**PROLOUGE 1.- Rage behind enemy lines**

"Alright, boys, we're all that's left of Ace Company", said junior lieutenant Brannon, who still managed to keep his boyish looks, dimples, freckles, and all, despite the harsh French winter and the dirt around them. The short, stocky, innocent-looking soldier looked even _funny,_ with his M1-Garand held clumsily in both hands and his smart uniform in the middle of the muddy, damp-smelling trench. "We've gotta make the best of what we've got. Tyler, what's the latest word from HQ?"

Tyler, the tallest and thickest in the group, looked like he should be a heavy artillery man, but he was just the radio operator, and not the best one to boot. However, they were the only ones in the group that seemed to be keeping it together. In a way, they were and had always been a source of calm for the troop when under even the thickest enemy ambush. The group would trust them both with their lives, even Tyler, who had shown his fighting abilities the one time a squad of German soldiers tried to reach their radio. The group preferred to forget the scene, as Tyler had singlehandedly hacked his way through six German soldiers with nothing other than his combat knife. Stains of blood still remained unwashed in the muddy trench's dirt wall.

"No word yet", grumbled Tyler. "Looks like the Germans cut our communications off. We're on our own. That makes me... _angry..._"

The group was used to Tyler's way of speaking, but after the last scene with the Krauts, they found the prospect of Tyler's anger a lot scarier.

Brannon looked at Tyler straight in the eye, and said firmy: "Well, cool it. If we'll get out of here, it will be _brains, _not brawn, that'll get us through."

Inexplicably, Tyler looked instantly calmer. The troop suspected there was _something _between the two besides the usual soldiers' camraderie, as Tyler seemed to respond to Brandon's every _word, _and Brandon was, if this was at all possible, even _more _zealous of the safety of his radio operator than anyone else of his men.

"But sir, _how _is brain supposed to help against the Germans' artillery? There's only seven of us, _total!" _said Smith, echoing the thoughts of all the troops except for Tyler, Brandon, and Czshinsky's.

"_You _worry about getting ahead of the Krauts holding position between the artillery and ourselves, let Tyler and me worry about the artillery."

The men were shell-shocked. They would trust their commander with their lives, but there's things that just _couldn't _be; that _no man _could ever pull off...

Czshinsky looked out the tunnel's mouth, into the open field, torn every now and then by smoldering pits where a German shell had found it's mark.

The full moon was high in the sky, and Czshinsky just _laughed. _It was an odd laugh, cruel and somehow alien; not quite human-sounding.

"OK, _these _are your orders. You'll run, sticking as close to this trench as you can, to the patch of trees on the _east _side of the trench. Yes, Tiny, I _know _the patch on the _west_ side is closer to ourcurrent position, but it's also filled with Krauts that are waiting for their compatriots to run out of shells, _or, _for us to fall and go sit on their laps. We don't want _that _to happen. Once you're there, you'll _sit tight. _And I mean _very fucking tight. _There are three german patrols that way, twelve men total, with dogs, but the snow will mask your scent unless you get too close. You will not, I repeat, _will not _engage the patrols, _unless _a dog so much as _looks _to your direction. If that happens, you will exterminate that patrol, and _that _patrol only. Take your time to do it, but do it _quietly. _Czshinsky! You speak Kraut. If anyone asks the patrols for their status, you'll come up with an excuse.

"Your gocode to start engaging the Krauts on the front will be given by Tyler and me, when we take a part of their artillery. You'll know we did so because a Kraut cannon will start opening fire on their own, either towards other artillery nests, or towards the woods west of here I told you about. Lance! You are the best scout of your kind I know. You'll be watching for our signal. Alright, men, you've got your orders. You'll wait for exactly fifteen minutes, on Czshinsky's mark, to start making your way into those woods. Go!"

Brandon watched his men proudly. None had wondered how could their commander have known the exact composition and placing of _every _enemy in about 100 miles radius without so much as two paper cups and a string, or how did he, and a _radio operator, _however angry, could take out a Boom Box. They had their orders, and would comply. But as their leader, he suddenly felt lonely, sad, responsible, and even guilty. _I just _can't _loose so much as one of these men... They're all great, and **I'm **responsible over them. _He wanted to sigh and sit. The burden of command was heavy. But it was precisely that burden which kept him from showing any signs of weakness.

As he thought of this, he heard Czshinsky's voice in his head: _Don't worry, Philodox, they're MINE to watch over! _

_I should have known, _thought Brandon. _Czshinsky might be a Theurge, but he CAN fight._

_Don't worry, _joined Tyler the Ragabash, _they're trained fighters! They WILL resist the shock of seeing me Change. About Czshinsky... I'm not so sure... he's so ugly in Crinos Form..._

_HEYYY! _said Czshinsky. _I heard that!_

Reassured by his packmates, Brandon, the Metis Philodox, only Metis to make it to Elder in the Silver Fangs for the last 300 years, felt reassured. _My men can handle ANYTHING we could possibly get into!_


End file.
